Blueberry Muffins
by Fallen Angel195
Summary: Story by Alfredburgerotp on Tumblr. Who is this strange man in the mirror that looks like me? How can he claim to come from a different dimension?...But those blueberry muffins sure look good anyway. 2p!Hetalia and 1p!Hetalia
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ok, so I was browsing through Tumblr when I came across this amazing fanfic by Alfredburgerotp and I just HAD to share it on Fanfiction! So that means ****I DO NOT OWN!**

Staring down inhumanly blue eyes, with the same tired, half-cracked almond shape as his own, Arthur Kirkland saw something almost familiar beyond the pale blue. He thought for a moment that it was some professional-grade impersonator of himself that had only seen some very poor pictures of him (his hair was far too light, and his eyes that clouded, horrific blue, like a mist that hid sunlight as well as the bodies mangled and stowed away in the marshes of home… bodies no one cared to find). He thought perhaps that he had been saying something before this moment, something about intruders in his home and that he didn't obey the gun laws. But as the intruder held out a tray of muffins and chirped out the question of whether or not he wanted any, Arthur's soul felt almost at ease (and yes, he did take one, supposing it was just one of his fantasies from the time when he actually had control over who came and went in his home).

His hand, however, was slapped away, and the distinct whish-crack sound of a spell starting to crumble at the edges made him start and look up. "No touching the blueberry ones," This strange recolored version of himself chided, "You know those are Alfred's favorites and he would make quite a fuss if they were all gone before he arrived." And their gazes met. If there was one thing that was not faltering, it was that smile, pretty and pearly-white and oh-so-innocent. And wasn't that nice? Innocence! In today's world!

The thought of the moors back before they'd all been developed and rolled over with roads and houses crossed that old mind for a moment, and it came to him, as if he was overhearing someone else's thoughts so crystal clear and perky, that with such pure innocence to the world's ills, children instead release the evil inside themselves to live out the human desire to be cruel.

But instead he took a bite of the muffin (chocolate chip) offered to him and ignored that thought. If an Englishman couldn't ignore the thoughts that bothered him, he wasn't a true Englishman as far as Arthur was concerned.

The door to his home swung open (wait — wait, this was his house, wasn't it? Had he invited someone?) and there was the clunk, clunk, clunk of steel-toed boots against the tile of the kitchen. "Oh, butterscotch!" The exasperated mirror version of himself (well, Arthur supposed, his hair was just a shade lighter really, and his eyes weren't just blue, they had so much more to them, didn't they) set the tray of muffins down and shooed two men out of the kitchen, exclaiming that they simply must sit down and he would serve them and you shouldn't track dirt into the house you know!

He recognized Alfred, curious (and salivating like a dog at the scent of the blueberries) and trying to peek back in even as he was being shooed, though another dark-haired man caught his attention, and he shuffled out of the way almost as soon as he realized Arthur was looking for his face. Something was said to the man in the kitchen, who was handing him a tray of muffins to pass around, and he heard Alfred's ongoing laugh and his thoughts started creaking and slowing strangely, the carpet making him feel dizzy and his stomach tight as he handed the muffins out. And as this strange, dark-haired man reached immediately for a blueberry one, his hand was snapped away.

Arthur, in a last moment of will, looked up, and met the man's eyes. His blood ran cold, the carpet looked closer, and closer, his stomach knotted and pained and fearful and Alfred dropped the uneaten half of his dessert, rushing to his side. Arthur didn't wait to see a hand reaching for the baseball bat leaning against the side of the sofa to tell him to _run_.

**Alfredburgerotp: [Okay so um I can't sleep and this is awful but uh here you go beek I hope you like it. I thought, our England uses magic just fine, though he's not very good at it sometimes… wouldn't 2P England use it too? So yeah, 2P England uses spells to soothe his victims before he captures/kills them. And yes there are roofers in the blueberry ones.**

**Run Alfred, **_**run]**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here is the 2 chapter~ ****ALL CREDIT GOES TO ALFREDBURGEROTP ON TUMBLR!**

**Alfredburgerotp: [WARNING: Mentions of character death, this has not been beta'd]**

England awoke an eternity later, on a harsh woven cot, with a warm body beside his and two thick arms curled around him tightly. It only took a glance down for his face to be buried in a golden head of hair. A mat of dried blood formed a crown on the forehead, surely the badge of the fight he put up, and Arthur quickly set to work gently scratching and rubbing it out. If there was anything England had learned of his pirate days, it was that being visibly upset would do nothing but harm your chances of escape and stroke the ego of your captor. So he remained silent and held his boy close, probably wisely.

"You're quite affectionate," Commented a voice. Arthur forced himself to remain focused on the blood and on the fact that Alfred had plenty of it and he was breathing just fine, slowly and deeply in a quiet sleep.

"He's filthy," He replied, coolly.

"Well, at least we have that in common," The other Arthur replied graciously, "I cannot stand filth."

"Where did you come from?" Calmly, forced calm because Alfred was still bleeding damn it and there was quite the cut on his forehead and they must have been out for some time but Alfred, superpower that he was, never bled that much, _never_.

"Your world is an alternate world based off of mine; it's as simple as that. And what a pity!"

"I should say the same thing," England countered. "And what could you possibly know about our world?"

"My looking glass shows me many things." Arthur caught a glance of an unwavering blue-eyed stare, a stark contrast to the gleaming grin beneath it.

"There's no such thing as a working looking glass," He snapped back, feeling most triumphant. "The curse always plays tricks on your mind and then it breaks."

"Oh no, not at all," Sleeves were rolled up, steps taken, and Alfred groaned and pressed closer into his chest. Arthur pleaded with him to stay asleep a little longer; he doubted they captured them for innocent reasons and it may be the last time he would get some rest for a while. "My looking glass shows me many wonderful things," The other Arthur continued, "It gave me guidance when no one else would. It showed me the future, were I to follow its advice. It showed me the past… and then, yes, it showed me your world. And I have been watching closely ever since."

"And I am supposed to believe this? That you aren't some spy, you're here from an alternate dimension?" Though the books did say seeing into a looking glass would cloud your mind and burn your eyes, something about the human soul only being able to take so much of the cold hard truth of the world and of itself before… _snapping_.

"We have no false pretenses in my world." The other Arthur laughed. "We do not gallivant around claiming ourselves to be heroes when we are murderers. We do not kill in the name of 'science'. We do not kill because of God or because of 'mercy' or because of some strange line of 'insanity' that we have crossed. We do it because we want to. There are no questions about that."

Alfred sleepily groaned and reached for his head, gave it a scratch. Arthur willed him back asleep.

"So imagine my surprise when I find your world! One where even suspected killers are scorned and locked away, where this strange, other version of me is so weak and old and stupid, and cannot so much as say 'I love you' to the dear brothers that have done so much for him. You cannot imagine my disappointment."

"So you're saying you go around and tell all your brothers that you love them every day in your world? It just isn't something that comes up —"

"My brothers are dead! Even better! But the fact that you kept yours alive and yet cannot so much as tell them you love them, after all you've been through, hell, after all you've _put them through_ —"

"At least I didn't kill them!" Arthur yelled a bit too loud, though Alfred did not move.

"And what is so terrible about death? Why do you fear it? Your own death may be far off but to see death upsets you and your people so! But for what? We will all die eventually! Why is bringing it sooner than originally intended so terrible?"

Arthur dodged this subject. "My brothers know that I love them." He choked, just then, "As does Alfred." He felt the head against his chest slowly turn to look up, and he glanced down, his heart sinking coldly in his chest. Red, red eyes stared back at him, an inhuman grin spreading across this beast, this proto-America's face. Arthur screamed.

**Alfredburgerotp: [I honestly have no idea where I'm fucking going with this. The plot thickens. I'm going to SLEEP.**

**Also it's something like a looking glass is the term for a mirror that's magical and will tell you/show you magic awesome things like the future and stuff or something like that looking glass just sounds cool. but um when he means just a mirror he'll say mirror and not looking glass or something like that**

**LOOKING GLASS LOOKING GLASS ON THE WALL…**

**WHO IS THE PRETTIEST OF THEM ALL?**

**P2 ARTHUR CUZ FUCK MAN YOU SCARY****]**


End file.
